


of pasta, eagles, and jackets

by lafbaeyette



Series: finding their home [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Basically, Fluff, Google Translate French (Sorry), M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/lafbaeyette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton was talented in most areas. His skill with a quill was undeniable, he was reliable with the ladies and the men, and he had even gotten hooked on several different puzzle-type games that his boyfriend had gotten for his birthday - just to name a few. One thing he seemed to really struggle with was cooking, that was most definitely his boyfriend’s area of expertise. But Alexander was stubborn, and every once in a while he wanted to treat his boyfriend right and cook John Laurens a romantic dinner. Romantic of course translating to ‘Italian’ because pasta was the easiest thing to cook and the hardest to mess up. Leave it to Alexander Hamilton to find a way.</p><p>--</p><p>AKA, The One Where Alex Tries And Fails But Still Wins The Night</p>
            </blockquote>





	of pasta, eagles, and jackets

**Author's Note:**

> Now I really want some pasta, but it's 1 AM -- since I only seem to write and post past midnight (who am I?). 
> 
> Warning: I barely speak Spanish, on a good day, and know a wee bit of ASL -- What does this mean to you? All French in this is from Google Translate, I'm so sorry. If I've messed up monumentally, please throw a rock at me and help me fix it. I won't even be embarrassed, consider it educating the poorly educated. (Or those that have yet to fit French into their schedule.) 
> 
> Written For This Prompt (given by a friend): 'They should have to cook food. There should be an eagle involved. Washington should show up somewhere. And the appearance of an unexpected article of clothing should change everything. Go.' -- which was a lovely challenge

Alexander Hamilton was talented in most areas. His skill with a quill was undeniable, he was reliable with the ladies _and_ the men, and he had even gotten hooked on several different puzzle-type games that his boyfriend had gotten for his birthday —- A book of Sudoku and Crosswords, several jigsaw puzzles that they worked on together, just to name a few. One thing he seemed to really struggle with was cooking, that was most definitely his boyfriend’s area of expertise, if for no other reason than the time he had spent in the kitchen with his mother when he was young. But Alexander was stubborn, and while everyone realized he wasn’t a talented cook, _he_ refused to admit to it, and every once in a while he wanted to treat his boyfriend right and cook John Laurens a romantic dinner. Romantic of course translating to ‘Italian’ because _pasta_ was the easiest thing to cook and the hardest to mess up. Leave it to Alexander Hamilton to find a way.

“I’m just saying that our country was _founded_ on radical ideas that no one thought would work — and _honestly_ , when looking at the other candidates, wouldn’t it make more sense to go with someone that is looking out for your best interest?” Alex’s voice was heated as he poured pasta shells into the boiling water, capping the pot and turning to face his boyfriend. John sat with his legs crossed in a chair, arms propped on the kitchen table as his eyes skimmed over the half pieced together puzzle he and Alex had been working on this week. The image featured a bald eagle, proud and strong, but separated into one thousand pieces it was very difficult to match up the bird’s dark feathers. He nodded his agreement with Alex’s statements, still listening intently even as he eyed the dark brown puzzle pieces and tried to fit them into place. 

“How many tweets did you get out during the debate last night?” John asked absently when it appeared Alexander was finished with his rant, attention stolen by the Alfredo sauce recipe he pulled up on his phone. 

“Maybe, like, a hundred-fifty? Or so?” Alex barely turned his head as he responded, pulling the corner of his lip between his teeth as he cautiously looked at the saucepan perched on the front burner. He had already pulled out all of the ingredients the recipe called for, his eyes sweeping over the large array of items. He could feel John’s eyes burning into his back, could already see the sly grin spreading over his lover’s lips. 

“Do you need some help, babe?” John asked slowly, Alex turning his head to bark a hard “No!” before he had even gotten the question out. John’s laugh lifted out of him, still watching his boyfriend look at the counter full of food as if it were another puzzle he had to figure out. “Alex, honey, seriously, if you need help I don’t mind—”

“No, John, I’m making this _for_ you, you can’t help!” Alex’s voice was a little harsher than he meant for it to be, his admonishing look shifting to something more apologetic as he turned around to his boyfriend. John didn’t look offended, he really had gotten used to Alex sometimes getting a little too riled up over something. “I can do this, I’m completely capable.” 

“I know you are, baby, but it’s okay to ask for help,” John replied in a gentle tone, a reminder if nothing else, because sometimes Alexander seemed to forget that he could get help. Sure, this was just a simple dinner, but Alex was aggressively independent in all areas of his life and he appreciated the gentle reminder that he wasn’t as alone as he once was. Alex bit the corner of his lip again, glancing back at the ingredients before letting out a quiet sigh. He still wasn’t going to let John lift a finger tonight, it was Alex’s turn to treat _him_. 

“Maybe I’ll call Martha…” Alex turned back for his phone, precariously perched on a shelf over the stove, and dialed the familiar number. John just let out another soft laugh, returning to the puzzle. He was very glad that Alexander had found the Washingtons they were like a family he had never had. George Washington had been a professor of one of Alex’s government classes his first year of college, and the faculty in charge of John’s Freshman Seminar. He was likable, a brilliant man that made his classes interesting, and had taken a fondness to Alexander and John. It began with simple lunches with Alex to discuss his schedule - what courses he should take to stay on the right track, what would be best for him - which just led into Alex and John being invited to dinner more and more frequently. Martha Washington was just as kind and mothering, even sending the boys home with some leftovers to make sure they had something for the next day. She had also taken to helping Alex improve his cooking skills — John still remembers the first impromptu lesson Alex had, the sheer joy on his face as he pulled out a panful of twelve deliciouslooking cupcakes and Martha let him decorate them himself. He half-listened as Alex mumbled into his phone. 

“Hi, George, it’s Alex — yeah, we’re good, um, actually, is Martha available?” Silence, a quick glance up revealed Alex picking at the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit. He was afraid he’d bother them, which John was sure he would not, and Martha must have picked up at that point — “I’m sorry to bother you” — and Martha probably went on about how great it was to hear from him, assured him he’s no bother, because he released his shirt and placed a hand on the counter. John smiled, even he couldn’t calm Alex down that quickly, he would have to ask Martha what her trick was. A few minutes later, Alex grabbed at the ingredients with confidence, listening to Martha intently and humming acknowledgements. John turned back to the puzzle, picked up a piece and tried to fit it in several places. No dice.  

“And just let it sit? For— Okay, okay, thank you, really. That recipe was so confusing, it made less sense than Jefferson’s counters in debate, I swear—” John snorted and Alex shot him a look as he said his goodbyes to Martha and hung up. “Eavesdropping, Jonathon?” 

“Yo, that’s literally not even my name, _Alexander_ ,” John laughed. Alex crossed over to him, pressing a light kiss to his cheek before wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders. 

“I know,” he murmured, face buried into John’s neck and his breath sending a shiver down John’s spine. “But three syllables holds much more effect when scolding than just the one.”

“So, our children should never have one syllable names?” John suggested, his tone joking. “Just for the added affect when they get in trouble.” John twisted his head when he was met with Alex’s silence, very odd company to find. He found a small smile on Alex’s face and John made a questioning sound, reaching up to brush the back of his finger over Alex’s cheek. “What’s in your head, _mon petit lion_?” 

“You and Laf,” Alex exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at the nickname. He leaned back, looking down at John as his smile spread. “I just— you said ‘our children’ and I— Do you think about that?” 

John’s face flushed, eyes falling to the floor for a moment as he cleared his throat. “Uhm, sometimes I- I entertain the thought. Is that weird?” When he looked up again he felt nervous, but his nerves were soothed by the warmth he found in Alexander’s brown eyes, wide and welcoming and full of a love that unfurled inside John’s chest and flowed swiftly through his body. Alex shook his head shortly, leaning down and pressing their lips together, hard. John let out a soft sound as his hand immediately found purchase in the soft, dark locks at the back of Alex’s head. 

“ _Vraiment_!” A familiar, thickly accented voice broke through their moment, shortly followed by a heavy fabric falling over both of their heads. Alex shook his head, stepping back and straightening as he grabbed Lafayette’s jacket, saving the expensive garment from falling to the ground. “The one night I wish to _avoid_ your disgustingly romantic selves, and you flaunt it all over our kitchen?” 

“You were supposed to be out tonight,” John reminded the flustered Frenchman. “And Alex was going to make me dinner — we talked about this last night.” Lafayette laughed, though it was more of a dry huff as they shook their head. 

“Well, my plans have changed — _it ètait un trou du cul_ , and still he had the audacity to ask for a second date?! _Non_! I am sorry, _mes amis_ , for intruding your date - I will be in my room.” Lafayette stepped forward to retrieve their jacket from Alex’s hand, pressing a chaste kiss to each other their cheeks before turning toward their own room. Alex and John exchanged a look, both in silent agreement, before John called out to their roommate. 

“Hey, Laf, why don’t you join us?” He offered, gesturing to the table. Lafayette paused, pursing their lips before they shook their head. 

“ _Non, cher_ , I would not like to interrupt your—” 

“You’re not interrupting anything, Lafayette,” Alex interjected, reaching his hand out to their friend. Lafayette tossed their jacket onto a chair, accepted Alex’s outstretched hand and letting him pull them into a hug. “Sorry your date sucked, but I’m making chicken alfredo—” Alex cut off in a gasp and Lafayette frowned. 

“You know I am vegetarian,” they said slowly, and Alex dropped his head into his hands, cursing under his breath. 

“That’s okay, I totally forgot to get any chicken,” Alex admitted sheepishly. John and Lafayette both began laughing at the same time, causing the flush spreading over Alex’s cheeks to reach down his neck. Lafayette pecked his cheek again, shaking their head at their roommate. 

“Oh, Alexander,” Lafayette sighed, still chuckling, before they slid out of Alex’s arms and down into a chair next to John. “Thank you, both of you.

“Of course, Laf,” John squeezed Lafayette’s hand in his own, giving his friend a comforting smile. “Now, gossip time. Spill. Tell us all about that dick, that way Alex and subtweet him later tonight for being such a lousy date.” John looked past Lafayette’s shoulder, then to Alex. “And honey, please check on your Alfredo sauce before we end up having to order take-out.”

Alexander jumped, nearly sprinting back to the stove to stir his - thankfully not ruined - sauce. He checked the pasta, finding it to be perfectly cooked — to him; John and Lafayette may find it a bit overcooked. He plated and served, allowing John to cover their puzzle before they sat down to dinner, and although it wasn’t the date night he had anticipated it was still a perfect night at home with two of his favorite people. Lafayette vented about their terrible date experience, Alex may have made a couple tweets about it once he realized that Lafayette’s date was with none other than Thomas Jefferson — “Why would you even _try_ that, Laf?” “He may be an asshole, Alexander, but he is hot!” — and most importantly, later that night he lay curled up in John’s arms whispering about baby names and how they would raise their future children — “They would be more respectable than Jefferson, that’s for damn sure.” “Alex, baby, that’s not hard to do. We’d make great parents if that’s your only goal.”

Maybe being a father would turn out to be another area Alexander excelled in. He was looking forward to finding out.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, these from Google Translate so, here's what they're SUPPOSED to mean: 
> 
> mon petit lion = my little lion (I feel like everyone that identifies as Hamiltrash and their mother know that by now though)  
> Vraiment! = Really!  
> it ètait trou du cul = he was an asshole (shoutout to [ whateverhappenstome ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whateverhappenstome) for correcting that one! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Find me on Tumblr on my Hamilton sideblog (hypeulesnochilligan.tumblr.com) and come yell about AHam and the Crew with me. Or send me prompts!
> 
> Special thanks to my very best friend Saint for this prompt.


End file.
